


Rhapsodic Vagary

by ArtisDead



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Abuse, Addiction, Comfort, Drugs, Emotional, Heroin, Jail, M/M, Smoking, Underage Smoking, Violence, underage addiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-09 20:16:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4362719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtisDead/pseuds/ArtisDead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warning- Mature content (drugs and abuse)<br/>(rhap·sod·ic adjective :  extravagantly emotional. va·gar·y noun : an unexpected and inexplicable change in a situation or in someone's behavior.)<br/>The air is getting colder outside, and Haizaki's skies are growing grey. As he is faced with the pressures of creating his future, the light at the end of the tunnel begins to grow dim. Can Nijimura straighten him up, or will Haizaki coerce his own destruction?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Blue skies accost the students of Fukuda High School with a smiling face that April. The third-years were barely keeping track of how fast their final year at high school was passing by, and before they knew it, their first term was over. Time was but a passing friend, moving much too fast for their wide and curious eyes to keep up with. This was a moment of enjoyment and appreciation; they were much more inclined to stop and smell the flowers than they were to board the trains that would take them to their next step in life. But the clear water above their heads became duller and duller as daylight was more scarce. The sweltering days that forced them in front of humming fans, accompanied by bottles of water that would sweat much like they did, became chillier. Break never lasted long, and the second term loomed over their shoulders as August was taking its final bow. A ground which was once blanketed by a curtain of pink, now became a bed of earth tones for the cold air to lie down in.

"You've barely gotten out of the house all summer," a voice, ripped apart into a thousand minuscule pieces-- and of course, only to be puzzled back together and projected from the tiny earpiece on Haizaki's phone, considering he could not dream to be lucky enough to avoid such pestering-- whined to him. He could not see Nijimura's face in front of him, per se, but that was not an indication of how well he could gauge his expression just from the inflections of his tone. Having listened to him bark ever since they let out for break, at this point Haizaki was rather annoyed by his old acquaintance. A guttural growl caused his teeth to bare like an animal, while his fingers promptly did the duty of silencing Nijimura, at least for the time being. He had never quite gotten over his leadership phase, and was constantly trying to boss Haizaki around. After so long, he would have thought that Nijimura would get the point, but evidently he was just too thick to understand. 'Delinquent' typically followed Haizaki's name, especially in hushed conversations between instructors, but in reality he just was not fond of rules. Especially if those rules were bestowed upon him by his peers. 

Haizaki's once white sheets were stained with time, turned a faint yellow and dulled by use and carelessness for correction. Even still, his black cellphone contrasted the background as it hit the mattress, bouncing enthusiastically until finally settling down. An air thick with smoke wafted into his nostrils as he inhaled to sigh, coughing lightly as his chest deflated. While one hand had previously held his cellphone, the other sported a plain white cigarette, split near the end in a crisp line to lead into an orange filter-- not that it did much, of course. He let the ashes fall anywhere, just enjoying the pseudo-calm brought on by the nicotine. Having spent the last month and a half in the confines of his own room, its level of tidiness had depleted, showing with use. Clothes were strewn about the floor, mixing together in the middle and therefore blurring any line between clean and worn. Not that he cared much. 

These were the moments Haizaki relished in. With a certain quietness befallen on the house, he was alone with his wondering. When was the last time he ate? He thought to himself, tapping the end of his cigarette with the ball of his thumb. It could have been days ago; all of it blurred together for him. At least his thoughts were innocent at this point-- sometimes, on a bad day, he would find himself questioning his existence or his reason to live. Moments of dissociation left him wondering what his place was in the world, if there was one at all, but 'existential crisis' was too poetic of a label. Haizaki preferred the bluntness of 'suicidal thoughts'; straightforwardness excited him, after all. He was not exactly inclined to take his own life, but if anything he would question it. 

These days, it took enormous levels of effort to get out of bed. If he planned to at all, sometimes even dressing himself in addition would leave him exhausted. Haizaki haphazardly shuffled across his unkempt floor and to the threshold. Two years ago his father had pulled the doorknob off of the wood door that gave him what little privacy he could ask for. It saved them money to just remove whatever had a lock on it instead of getting a whole new handle, so now his parents were able to peek in whenever they wanted. The real question was whether or not this long block of wood could even be considered a door anymore, or was it more favorable to call it a barrier?  


Without much energy, Haizaki just snacked on whatever was readily available, clad only in a pair of boxers and thus showing off his white skin tainted with purple blemishes, and some a greenish yellow color. When you live a life like his, you learn a lot about bruises. You also learn a lot about yourself, because everyone bruises differently, and sometimes that is an easy detail to forget. 

Haizaki is able to enjoy a few minutes of peace before he hears the door open. Instinctively, he knows that staying visible is a bad choice. However, apathy keeps him rooted to the seat beneath him, which would soon bring to light its betrayal on his comfort. Whether he stays put initially out of fear is unclear, but dread is certainly what kept him there when his mother rounds the corner. Her appearance is disheveled; she wears a torn shirt and pants that have grown too large for her. Her hair is unwashed and her eyes are hooded in a hazy stupor. She meets the gaze of her son and smiles, though her teeth are no longer white and he no longer experiences joy when he sees her happy. Arms and legs are irrelevant to her torso as they move independently but in the same direction, approaching him with construed posture. He digs his weakening nails into the table and grits his teeth at her. Today the house is clean, and looking into her eyes he knows why. It will not last, but the cleanliness of his surroundings or even himself fade as a concern for his as she draws nearer. Her breath smells of smoke and although he has taken up the habit himself, the scent is sickening to him. 

"So nice to see you again," her pungent air croons to him, causing his brow to twitch. Haizaki says nothing. She runs a red fingernail along his forearm; she always loved her nail polish. Ever since he was a child, she always said that a woman who paints her nails will achieve in the world. She would also say that the color she chooses says a lot about her intentions. The red confidence on her index finger was chipping piece by piece, showing its sensitive underbelly. Haizaki watched the digit caress his skin and knew what she was going to ask. "We just bought some more for our stash, care to join us?" 

Again, Haizaki chose to remain silent. It is better in these situations to let them do the talking. After all, they often did not need his input to have a conversation. His father entered the room now, retrieving a small plastic bag of white powder from his pocket, where he dangled it in front of Haizaki's nose. "It'll be fun. Come on, don't you love us?" 

She had already gathered their utensils. It did not take much to cook up a dosage, however they made a ritual about it. Uneasy about their contagion, Haizaki fled again to his room to sleep instead, perhaps hoping to awake in a better place, whether that meant alive or dead. Begging honesty, he was unsure whether or not he cared which.


	2. Chapter 2

Stirring, Haizaki awoke in a drowsy stupor. Since his curtains were drawn, he could not be sure what time of day it was. Moreover, he also couldn't be confident on how long he had been sleeping. It was not unheard of that he would remain asleep for an entire day or longer, thus leaving much undone in the meantime. However, he could hear the gentle footsteps of rain outside his window, which soothed him into his awakening. Sitting up, a dizzy spell spun the world around him and caused his eyes to lose focus for a moment. Swaying, Haizaki gripped the sheet beneath him to steady himself. Caught in a yawn, the young teen fished for his cellphone to check the time. The bright screen which burned his pale grey eyes informed him that it was mid-afternoon, the next day. He felt sticky with sweat, and decided it was best to risk leaving his safe cavern in order to take a shower. 

A myriad of assorted fabrics leaped to greet pallid fingertips, all begging to be touched, worn. Haizaki rifled in the reticent darkness for a change of clothes, not paying attention to what he came across nor the matter or state it presented itself in. His journey begged celerity, considering he was risking an interaction with his parents by leaving his sanctuary. He had not the time to worry about such pleasantries as well-kept clothing. In fact, he barely had the time to worry about a shower to begin with.

Inserting a long finger into the hole where his doorknob once resided, the wooden barrier creaked and complained just long enough for Haizaki to crack it open slightly and peer into the hallway. From what he could tell, everything looked clear. In fact, the house was rather quiet altogether. Perhaps his parents were out, though the idea struck him as strange enough considering they had just went on a supply run the previous afternoon. Even if they were home, it was only a few feet across the hall to the bathroom. Inhaling, quiet footsteps avoided all the panels in the floor that he knew to groan or squeal. Once reaching his destination and comfortably off his toes, Haizaki shut and locked the door with haste in his fingers. 

Having set his change of clothes down and started the water, Haizaki carefully undressed himself piece by piece, mindful to avoid any bruises he had decorating his skin. Of course it was an impossible feat to miss every one even closely, but he managed to be quite successful. Luck, however, was a cruel and fleeting absolution, and would only tease such unsuspecting victims as he to make their downfall all the more entertaining, for once beneath the hot stream of water, Haizaki made quick work of dropping a bottle of shampoo to the floor. 

Funny, how a small mistake induces such an impact upon a person. Alarmed at the suddenness of it, sharp hues stared downward at the event, only to fill with desperations such as worry, animosity. He could only hope that it went unheard or unrecognized, or better yet, that he was alone and need not linger on what could become of himself. 

"Fuck," Haizaki whispered, venom dripping from his serpent's tongue. Retrieving the bottle, he decided to make quick work of his shower. With his hair in tight, styled braids down the back of his head, there wasn't much he could do in the first place without costing himself money. To his dismay, Haizaki's moment of revelry stubbornly faded to the sound of a knock on the bathroom door, followed by a voice slick and dripping with nauseating sucrose. 

"Haizaki honey, are you in there?" a female tone cooed to him, causing his nose to twitch in annoyance. When his parents were not busy being generally abhorrent, they could often be found somewhere along the fine line of annoying and infuriating. It was not that Haizaki wanted to hate them, but rather that he had no choice. 

"Yes," he droned, his voice rather gruff not just from his sour mood but also lack of use. 

"Just making sure~" she replied, and the sound of her footsteps retreating was enough reassurance for him to sigh aloud. Haizaki continued to wash himself, streams of suds draining with the warm water that pooled slightly at his feet. Since such peace had reached him here, he was reluctant to let it go. However, as his fingers began to prune, the young teen switched the water off and stepped out with a towel around his waist. 

Apathy had reared its ugly head and decided to bite Haizaki in the ass, presenting itself in the form of a pair of red basketball shorts, which mocked him before his very eyes. Although he still had the uniform in his possession, Haizaki had not played for Fukuda's basketball team since two years prior. He no longer had the energy or motivation to do so, despite his underlying passion for the sport itself. It was just his unfortunate luck to have picked the very shorts from his uniform to wear that day. Gazing upon the garment in his hands, a scrutinizing look came about his face, causing his eyes to narrow. In his prime, Haizaki was a talented if not ruthless player. Nearly impossible to beat. His gift of clear and concise observation granted him the ability to pillage the techniques of his opponents and use them as his very own, which more often than not would turn the game in his favor, rendering him in control. But after losing to an old enemy, he no longer saw a point to sticking with something so pointless. No matter how hard he tried, or how deeply he set his mind to things, he was still too inadequate to win. 

Upon exiting the bathroom, the teen barely had a moment to himself before a powerful hit to his gut sent him crashing to the floor. Looking up, furious eyes bored into his own as he began to cough, holding his fist to his mouth. 

"I was going to shower first."

Haizaki remained silent, apart from some slight wheezing. Before he was able to catch his breath, however, a powerful kick sent him scooting further down the hall. 

"You know I don't like my routine interrupted," a hissing tongue spat at him. 

"I wasn't even in there long, you fucking psycho," he growled, clutching his now aching stomach. 

"Excuse me?" his father replied, but before he could deliver another hit, Haizaki was on his feet and had shut his bedroom door behind him. Apparently his father did not consider fighting to be worth it, considering he ignored him for the time being. Haizaki took this opportunity to collect his essentials and abscond through his now open window. Making sure it was unlocked for his return, his long legs made way for freedom towards the city, at least for now, as tender rain kissed his pale skin drop by ephemeral drop.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being so late with this one! September is always a busy month for me because it's my birthday, not to mention that the fall semester just began. This chapter is also relatively short, but I hope you guys still enjoy it. Have some cold, soggy, sad corn boy.

Crystal drops stained the wispy satin surface of the grey smoke that twirled rhythmically around a heavy head. The earth bubbled as the sky cried unto its surface, soaking up the sorrows of the clouds and adopting them as its own sympathies, a mutual relationship that kept every inch alive for so long. The dense foot traffic which usually drowned the streets was now dispersed, only an occasional shadowed face accompanied by an umbrella passing by into the dark oblivion that rested behind Haizaki. Scared to look back, he pushed onward, keeping his chin low so that his cigarette wouldn't be put out by the rain. Warm air and cold rain caused his pale skin to raise along his arms and his body to shiver from the core. Sniffling, he launched the stubbed end of his cigarette into the nearest trashcan as he walked by, taking his newly freed arms around his chest to try and keep himself warm. 

Without having an honest destination, Haizaki should not have been surprised when he wound up standing before a familiar metal gate. As eerie as it was, gazing upon the hills beyond that vast threshold, the memories associated with this place remained dark in a different way. Haizaki had not laid his eyes upon those distant slopes, home to so many and loathed by so many more, in over a year. Despite the gates being open, he felt apprehensive about entering. A cold finger touched the back of his neck, causing him to shudder, and therefore making it all the more impossible to consider turning back. Collecting himself, Haizaki entered with his mouth in a small scowl, his grey eyes squinting through the dancing sheets of rain that fell unto and before him.

Regardless of only having taken this route once before, not a single shred of doubt appended Haizaki's moving feet. He passed by at least a thousand names before finally coming across the one he was looking for. Kneeling before the faded stone, a memory presented before him. No longer were there flowers to accompany the earth where his elder brother should have resided, but the despondency Haizaki felt that day when his being had been returned to whence it came was back again in his affair; for a fraction of a second, Haizaki questioned why he was here--- after all, it was rare that he gave his brother much thought anymore--- but upon reflection the answer become rather obvious to him. 

With no fond memories left of Hachirou, Haizaki was forced to relive the phantasm he became subjected to the previous year, sitting there under the fall of cold showers. The wetness sunk through his skin and chilled his bones, but he refused to seek shelter now. Though before his cloudy eyes rested a symbol of death, the images of Hachirou's living downfall replaced Haizaki's eyesight in a matter of moments. Those days were misleading; they felt quiet, calm. But the storm which would open up the sky to pour down upon his reality brewed right beneath his feet with every passing minute. Before Haizaki knew it, the monsoon took his brother away. Hospitals, cop cars, and a sea of black. They called it an overdose--- he called it a nightmare.

The first word that came to Haizaki's mind when he recalled everything that happened in that year was anger. Ironically enough, the burning heat associated with such a feeling was rather unfamiliar to him at the time--- in fact, he recalled a sense of loss and dissociation more so than anything else. So why now did anger tickle the back of his throat? Perhaps Haizaki failed to move on. With a tendency to ignore that which weakens his outer shell, such an idea was hardly unheard of. However, that burning red he tasted now caused his head to swirl with burning hot blood when he read the name on that gravestone. What kind of older brother left their sibling alone, in a world like this? Unsure if he was feeling jealousy, frustration, or a mixture of the two, Haizaki clicked his tongue and stood. The icy sheets pouring down from the sky, turning his dyed hair even darker and causing his pale cheeks to light up red, were now causing him to shiver. He looked around, grey eyes scanning the landscape around him in search of somewhere to wait out the rest of this downpour. One by one, soldiers of stone lined up, their dormant army covering every inch of the green grass which soaked up and swallowed his feet. His shoes, worn and old by now, had given up on keeping the water out. Thus, his socks now became sponges for the cold water that seeped in through every imaginable crack.

Spotting a small building within walking distance, Haizaki put his past behind him by walking in the direction of shelter. For now, he would avoid home, but that did not necessarily mean he had to embrace the miserable outdoors. After all, though his standards were not exactly high-class, he was allowed his preferences. There had to be someone willing to take him in, at least for the night. In fact, he had the perfect candidate in mind.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry it's been two months D: I've been very busy and haven't had many opportunities to write. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter though. A lot more of captain rainbow this time!

Waterfalls rained down from every imaginable inch of Haizaki's body. Teeth chattering, he stood in the doorway of a familiar home with a mixture of emotion on his face; not exactly pleading, his nose curled in an attempt to look like his typical hardened self, though the effectiveness of his efforts left more to be desired. Folding his arms across his chest, he tilted his chin slightly upwards and looked at a downward angle directly through the puzzled boy standing in his way. Furrowed black brows said everything without him even having to open his mouth. Not that he would have much luck doing so anyways; his lips were wound into a tight, unmoving line just above a sharp, defined chin. His grey eyes bored into Haizaki's crumbling figure, watching as his foundation fell to dust without a single word between them. 

“You wanted to see me, didn't you? So stop staring at me like an asshole and let me inside,” Haizaki finally hissed, his tongue dripping with venom. 

Though curious, Nijimura did not question his long-time acquaintance. It was against his better judgement to do so--- Haizaki had a perdurable tendency to keep nearly every detail of his personal life a secret, and especially over the recent year. Nevertheless, Nijimura stepped out of the way and allowed the soaking figure before him to step inside. 

Once indoors, and as the cool air hit him, Haizaki almost instantly began to shiver. His fingers and hands trembled much to his unwanted consternation, causing him to scowl. He removed his sopping, leaking shoes from his feet, hesitated, and peeled his wet socks off as well. Embarrassed enough to be here in the first place, Haizaki had no intentions of drawing any more attention to himself during his stay. However, the eerie silence of the house itself seemed to breath down the back of his neck, causing him to glance continuously over his shoulder. He followed Nijimura deeper into the quiet darkness, a trail of water close behind in case he should lose his way. 

“I'll make you some tea,” he offered. For as long as Haizaki had known him, Nijimura would selflessly take care of everyone around him, whether he became aware of it or not. This kind of behavior, being antithetical to Haizaki's ideals, typically got on his nerves; annoyed, he clicked his tongue and practically growled his response,

“I don't want any.” 

With his teapot already in hand, Nijimura lowered his arm to his side, glancing curiously at his guest. Though Haizaki had already asked for help in his own way, it seemed that he was adamant about keeping the sympathies and any acts of kindness to a bare minimum. Honestly, this guy was so obnoxious. 

“Why are you even here?” Nijimura blurted. He had not meant to ask, but his frustration level was being tested more and more by the second. Having been away from Haizaki for so long, he forgot how easily he got on his nerves. Gritting his teeth, he set down the teapot on the counter and placed a hand on his hip, using the other to dutifully animate his dialogue, “I mean, you hang up the phone on me when I ask to see you, you never make an effort to keep in touch, and suddenly you show up at my front door like a lost puppy. What's your goal here?” 

“Don't get fucking snippy,” a poisonous voice cut into the thick air, “if you don't want me here I'll leave. I thought you wanted to see me.” 

Sighing, Nijimura brushed back his feathery black bangs with pale fingertips. "That's not what I meant," he breathed, "I just... get worried about you, and all this isn't helping." 

"I don't need you to baby me," Haizaki replied with a grimace, "everything is fine," he continued to insist. After sharing a moment of tense eye contact, Haizaki announced that he was going to bed and turned on his heel in the direction of Nijimura's bedroom. Having easily found his way there, he disregarded any sense of manners and immediately took residency on his childhood friend's bed, not even bothering with the covers and ignoring the fact that his hair was still quite damp. 

Since his father's passing, Nijimura's house had become eerily quiet. Beforehand, Haizaki was able to fall asleep here with ease; the buzz of activity was calming to him, and even helped him sleep. Now that his two sisters were staying in America and it was just Nijimura and his mother, Haizaki found it a little more... difficult. However, tonight was a strong exception, for the teen fell asleep almost instantly. 

Despite the events of the day behind him, a dreamless, uniterrupted sleep followed Haizaki's wispy unconsciousness. In fact, it may have been the best sleep he had gotten in a year tops. Upon the arrival of morning, after the rain clouds had since cleared away to leave a vast open sky, Haizaki stirred when the light hit his eyelids, sitting up gradually with a groan. 

"Where am I?" he inquired aloud, rubbing the sleep away from soft grey eyes to look around. Alone, and after putting together the answer to his own question, he wondered where Nijimura had slept overnight, considering that his own bed was occupied. 

Standing, Haizaki leaned slightly on his feet. His body whimpered at him from every angle, complaining about the stress on his muscles. Ignoring the protests from his joints, he dragged his feet out of the room and into the corridor, where he looked around for any signs of life. Perhaps everyone was still asleep, or so it appeared considering that not a peep rang up from anywhere in the house. Well, Haizaki was certainly not in the business of waiting around for nothing. He got what he wanted by coming here, and now it was time to leave; silently approaching the front door, he slipped on his still soggy shoes and creeped out into the daylight which welcomed and embraced him with open arms, causing him to squint at its blinding bright structure but continue to walk into its threshold where his arrival was expected


	5. Chapter 5

Soft wind ran dainty fingers through fallen leaves and danced with the lilting grass. Countless pairs of feet crossed the threshold leading towards the towering establishment of Fukuda High, all piloting the brain of an eager student. With the mid-year break in the past, school was back in session here. For some, the important date did not yield enough significance to appear on time, however. 

Earlier that morning, Haizaki awoke in a daze, an ache behind his eyes which shot across his temples like hot electricity, causing his grey eyes to squeeze shut. Bringing a large hand to his face, he pinched the space between his eyes as if the gesture would cure the pain bouncing off the walls of his skull. He groaned, sitting up weakly, and peered about his messy room between narrow slits. Today was his first day back to school, but any fragment of motivation to show up was lost somewhere on his pillow, hiding in the sleep he had to leave behind. Although it was small and fleeting, Haizaki held a glimmer of hope that a cigarette would freshen him up and get rid of the annoying headache that was making it so hard for him to open his eyes. Through his narrowed hues he watched the tiny dancing flame of his lighter come in contact with the end of his cigarette, giving it life as it started to burn with humble vitality. 

Blowing smoke from his nose and mouth simultaneously, Haizaki sat there in silent melancholy, burning his cigarette down to the filter. Unfortunately, his headache showed no signs of dispersion, and on top of it all his stomach was beginning to experience sharp, sudden pains. Contemplating staying home, Haizaki eventually gave in to the small flicker of what was left of his morals, climbing out of bed to get himself ready. However, although he had the energy to drag himself to school, he lacked the capacity to care much about his appearance today, and decided to forgo a shower. Gathering up his school uniform--- which he admittedly wasn't certain whether or not it was clean--- Haizaki put it on one article at a time, deliberate and slowly, his muscles and joints screaming for the rest he knew he needed but refused to grant himself.   
Upon arriving at the familiar establishment of his towering high-school, long after the other students were already inside, Haizaki gazed at every wing of the tall, blindingly white building. In the winter, when snow fell upon the landscape, it was easy to evade acknowledging the presence of this thundering beacon. And in the sunlight, it blended with every beam. Grey eyes focused on a far-off building, one he was familiar with, but not so friendly. Their gym was top-notch, pristine, and the envy of many other schools. Haizaki didn't miss it in the slightest, he told himself, and it surely didn't miss him. 

Heart pounding, pale digits gripped the handle to the front doors of the school with impending trepidation. Feeling a weight on his chest, Haizaki looked around as if for an explanation, coming up with nothing. He exhaled carefully, as if worried that he would shatter his own glass ribs, and stepped inside. Perplexed when sudden rush of memories accompanied the sterile aroma hitting his nose, Haizaki's thin brows laced upon his forehead, his lip curling upward. Though this would not be the first and likely not the last time Haizaki would arrive to class late, a trembling insecurity in his belly whispered to him to turn back around and leave. Moving forward with what little will and energy remained within him, the tall male approached a familiar door, his mouth pressing into a thin line. Taking air into his chest, he pushed the door open and dipped his toes into a sea of stares. Immediately curling his nose in annoyance, Haizaki clicked his tongue and wordlessly found his seat, crossing his legs and leaning back in his chair with his arms behind his head. 

“Thank you for joining us, Mr. Shougo,” a discontented male voice greeted, followed by a sharp smile, one intended to cut the student down. Haizaki merely nodded, followed by a fleeting, disinterested wave. Tilting his chin downwards, he proceeded to ignore the instructor as he proceeded with the lecture, instead focusing on the pattern of scratch marks on his desk. After a while, when he started to get bored, Haizaki leaned forward and began scribbling a written note on a loose sheet of paper. Folding it up, he reached a hand forward and gingerly tapped the shoulder of the long-haired girl sitting in front of him, smirking slightly as he handed the paper over. She, sheepishly and discreetly, unfolded it and read the words on the page, her brown eyes moving diligently across each word. Once, twice, three times, until finally turning to him with red blood rising in her pale cheeks. She scribbled on top of the paper and handed it back, her delicate fingers feathering against his, actively avoiding Haizaki's tyrannical gaze as he read her single-word reply: “Yes”. 

With a smug grin spreading across his face, he tucked the paper into his pocket and, for the remainder of the lecture, sat at his desk with his face resting in his hand, anxiously anticipating the end of the period when lunch would begin.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, to be honest its midnight and i kind of pulled this entire chapter out of my ass, but i was feeling inspired. apologies in advance for super shitty quality

Her sticky lips smelled and tasted like cocoa butter, and her soft skin felt like velvet against his harsh fingertips. He refused to be merciful as rough nails tainted the ivory hide of her delicate arms, but her body responded in a way that only motivated his unrelenting digits. In the dark they stumbled, their feet kicking brooms, bottles, mops. Such a narrow channel they were offered to exist within, only forcing them closer. It was best they kept quiet, if they wanted to keep at it, but Haizaki yearned for the soft sound of her exasperated whimpers. Having taken her hair down from its bun, he tugged the black locks slightly, forcing her head back to expose her pale throat. Licking his lips, Haizaki's hooded grey eyes met hers. Fear bred within those dark irises, right alongside the passion which kept her going. Her eyes were fertile with excitement as they watched his lips, once pressed against her own, now upon the crook of her neck. Her spine trembled as his sinuous tongue touched her skin. He did not even know her name, but he consumed her skin and flesh in an amorous bite, pulling her hair even more upon hearing her gasp. Her knees trembled, body swaying, and he steadied her with a strong hand on her lower back. 

“It's always the quiet ones.”

To her, he smelled of cigarettes, musk, and petrichor. The way his fingers slipped over her skin, cunning and sly, reminded her of a serpent. Thinking back, though it was not very long ago, she could not be sure why she agreed to meet him here in this dark broom closet. The whole ordeal was rather classless, and not her style at all. Perhaps she felt flattered; well, he was quite handsome, and boys like him rarely paid attention to girls like her. Perhaps, she thought as well, she might never know. He handled her carelessly, but treated her like porcelain. Chaos, provocation. Those strong hands were not gentle, but all the same she felt safe. When his teeth met her neck, the sensation caused her toes to curl against the soft fabric of her bleached white socks, digging into the bottom of her black shoes. She shuddered, and her skin began to melt. It was hot in here, was it not? Her palms felt sweaty all the same. She tried to wipe them on her skirt, but realized that he was too close upon her. Gauging his features, she nervously settled her gaze upon his neck. The apple of his throat tempted her; she drew closer, but on the eve of her contact, he pushed her back and against the wall, hissing near her ear. 

“Don't.”

She appeared to squirm upon his command, her brows tensing. Her expression unsure, he felt her breath stop for a moment, establishing utter silence between them. Between racing heartbeats, they paused, unclear as to how to move forward. A part of her wanted to run, while another begged her to stay. He took his opportunity to slip his slithering fingers up underneath her blouse, and she knew. He wedged his leg between hers, and she felt regret. 

“This isn't what I wanted.”

“Don't worry, baby. It'll be fine.”

Would it? She wondered. His hot breath felt comforting, much like how one feels safe during a thunderstorm. But was it worth the risk?

“Just let me go.”

“I won't hurt you, I promise. I wasn't done yet.”

More importantly, would she ever get an opportunity like this again? Everyone knew of Haizaki Shougo's reputation; he could tear her apart in a matter of words. 

“I'm… I'm just going to leave,” she decided, and without listening to his audible protests, she did what she could to fix up her appearance before peeking out the door to check if the coast was clear and, seeing that it was, left Haizaki behind in the darkness. Clicking his tongue, his fist connected harshly with the wall, lingering there as he leaned his weight on his arm. 

“Whatever,” he said to himself in a low voice, “she was ugly anyways.”

Brushing himself off, Haizaki pushed open the door with a blasé attitude, stepping out into the hall with haste only to be stopped short by another body. Having collided with a fellow student, and successfully causing the other to drop his things, Haizaki angrily kicked a textbook and sent it flying against the wall. “Watch where you're going,” he spat, leaving him behind to storm down the hall on his own. He hadn't the time nor the patience to wait around for silly, meaningless encounters like this. If someone was going to get in his way like that, they would suffer the consequences as well. However, after the whole ordeal, Haizaki's appetite had begun to falter. Instead of joining his classmates in the cafeteria, he bought a drink with the little change in his pocket and sat outside in the sun, away from the windows to the building where he knew he would not get caught, and lit a cigarette. 

Sip, puff, sip, puff. Monotonously making his way through his measly lunch, Haizaki questioned the worth of even leaving his bed this morning. As bleak and boring as this was, however, it was not nearly as bad as what was certainly waiting for him at home. Having been stuck there for what felt like centuries during their vacation, perhaps some fresh air would do him well. Or, alternatively, perhaps it would only make things worse. He learned through experience that it was impossible to predict these sorts of things, and trying would almost definitely make for disappointment in the long run. Almost. 

Leaning his head back against the hard outside wall of the building, Haizaki closed his eyes and let the sunlight filter through his lids, trying his damnedest to listen to his surroundings instead of his thoughts.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: explicit detail on drug use.
> 
> This one is kinda short, but I don't have the heart to drag it out. It'd be ruined. Hope you enjoy!

“Fuck off!” a desperate voice squealed, stretched thin by strenuous movements, “don't fucking touch me.”

A dark presence loomed into Haizaki's line of sight. He squirmed uncomfortably, an undernourished body struggling to escape what felt like a vice grip holding him tightly against the back of one of the kitchen chairs. Smoke rose above his head, clouding his vision and turning the ceiling a yellow-grey. Any strength he once had was a fading echo; he stared into the pearly white maw of a grinning serpent and thought of the end. 

“What's the matter honey?” Her voice sounded like finely groomed nails marring themselves upon the surface of a chalkboard, “don't you want to join us? You've been so distant since your brother passed...” 

“You fucking killed him,” Haizaki snapped, his lips forming into a grimace. 

“It'll be f—” she paused, her expression changing when a wad of spit connected with her cheek. And again, when the surprise in her muscles relaxed into disgust. Having raised her hand to her face, she wiped the saliva from her skin and deliberately wiped it on Haizaki's pant leg. 

“You'll regret that,” a deep voice called from behind him, fading into the smoke that enveloped them all. 

“You'd spit at your own mother?” she questioned, as if in disbelief. She must've said something else, for Haizaki could see her lips moving, but he could not make out her words. A firm touch upon his forearm held him in place, as if his father's grip wasn't quite enough. The feeling of her skin upon his own burned him, his flesh screaming for relief. He turned hot beneath the pressure of her fingers, one last fighting chance to stop this all from going too far. 

Haizaki did not feel the needle puncture his skin, but he felt himself blistering from the inside out as the heroin seeped into his veins. White fingernails scratched at white skin. He felt tainted, unclean, unsafe. When you're afraid of something, really truly afraid, you do your best to avoid it at all costs. Which is why, perhaps, Haizaki was blindly and desperately attempting to bring his own veins to the surface, to expel this substance from his body. 

He breathed. For the first time ever, he could feel himself breathing. Air rushed into eager lungs, causing the organ to inflate and deflate rapidly. And he could feel. Every. Inch. Every drop of icy breath, every shiver of his flesh. 'Am I convulsing?' he thought, but before it was all too much, really too much, he began to accept it. Still breathing heavily, he lifted his head and saw his parents. 

Both of them experienced this on a daily basis; they started in this same spot. A little at a time. And then a little at a time changed to a lot, and they started to run out of furniture, and food, and patience. Haizaki hated them. No question, no remorse. He hated everything about them. But this was beginning to make him feel...good. 

Haizaki had been craving a cigarette for hours. Now that the clouds parted, he didn't want one at all. This felt better than a cigarette. 

“How are you feeling?” 

Their words were like mud--- a stain upon his consciousness. He shooed them away wordlessly, much like flies, and stood. The world took a moment to catch up with him; he was on his own plane. No longer a human, but an entity in itself. Disjointed, both brain and feet worked separately, slowly as a heavy body carried across the floor. Having shut the bedroom door as well as it would go, Haizaki floated to his bed and laid across it, feet dangling off the edge from his impressive height. 

Everything went wrong, and he was happy. His skin felt alive, and he was happy. Everything moved too slow, and he was happy. The same venom that killed his brother now ran strong through his veins, and he. Was. Happy. 

\----

The high didn't last forever, though. Whatever euphoria Haizaki felt began to diminish as the small amount of heroin in his system cycled its way out; on the way back down, it didn't seem all that pretty anymore, either. The nausea snuck up on him, but it took him straight to the restroom nonetheless. Whatever small contents that were in his stomach, now were not. Bleary eyed, he watched his minuscule liquid lunch swirl down the drain of the toilet, the motion making him dizzy. His mouth, however, didn't taste like vomit, rather it was just dry and uncomfortable. He couldn't get his teeth to sit right. Long, rather untrimmed fingernails scratched diligently at sensitive skin. Haizaki sat on the floor of the bathroom, lingering close to the toilet, and focused on how hard his head was pounding in a desperate attempt to suppress any ideas about what just happened.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry for the inactivity. Con season has been really stressful, not to mention being busy with finals. Hopefully I can keep being consistent from now on. This chapter focuses a lot on Haizaki's internal turmoil, which means not a lot of physical imagery, which is my strong suit. So, needless to say that this one is very experimental for me. It's not very much my style, but I hope you guys still enjoy it. 
> 
> (TW: explicit description of drug use)

The first night was the easiest. From there, a furious battle waged; Haizaki remained in constant turmoil with decisions, and most of them were bad ones. His parents, of course, did not provide him with any more product after getting him hooked. It became his priority, and responsibility. They did, however, refer him to a nice dealer. He had not asked, but they were kind enough to save him the embarrassment and let his typical hangout location slip in a small conversation the morning after his first ordeal. And for a few days, Haizaki avoided going to him. Desperately he attempted to forget that immeasurable high. It was just one time, so he felt confident that he could keep it that way. He could not be addicted, not so soon. 

Haizaki began to realize that his cigarettes were running out faster than before, and at an increasing rate. The nicotine did not satisfy him for long enough. He kept going back for more, and more; his small stash of money was running out quickly, though. Cigarettes were rather expensive. How much did they say one dose would cost? 1700 yen? 

It started cheap. Haizaki bought one dose to begin with, but it was not quite the same as last time; he was not able to achieve the euphoria he felt once before. Could something have been wrong with what he was sold? His initial doubts drew him to a heat of rage over his wasted money. Haizaki got halfway through roughing his dealer up before he spilled that a high was harder to achieve with each round of heroin. This guy acted pretty sleazy; he could easily have been lying. Haizaki, skeptical at first, happily obliged when he was offered a free double dose just so this guy could prove his point. He must really have wanted the business. Taking the needles happily, Haizaki returned home to give it a shot. 

From then on, he returned to that spot on a daily basis.

Haizaki stopped showing up to school altogether. At first, he would miss a few days out of the week. Since he started skipping meals, the hunger pains kept him in bed the majority of the time. Before, although he was not in the fittest shape, he felt much stronger than he did now. The difference--- that which kept him coming back, despite his health--- now became happiness. Happiness could be bought at any price, as long as he got what he needed. Though his arms were tired and swollen, and he often trembled, Haizaki did not have the capacity to cease. He sold his old basketball shoes, but he did not miss them. Only when he came down from his high did he regret their absence. 

Months trickled by slowly, and in that time, Haizaki's room became much less cluttered. He got along better with his parents now; people grow closer when they share something important. They bonded when they got high together. Haizaki was the only one who no longer noticed the way they twitched and scratched, and in turn they did not notice the vomit on his breath, or how his fingernails were cracking. Or rather, it was not a question of whether or not they took interest in these things or even realized they were happening, but instead that their own selfishness took precedence over their compassion for each other. They no longer cared about the deteriorating health of their family, or themselves. Haizaki and his parents only worried about their next fix. 

At school, Haizaki was known for being a delinquent and a bully. Which is why, he pondered, none of his peers were curious of his whereabouts. When others got sick and missed school, or for any other reason, their classmates would show concern. However, Haizaki was left alone. People did not call him, or show up at his door. They did not ask what was wrong, or bring him his missing work. And in a way, Haizaki felt grateful; he would rather not be bothered with such trivial things, for they were of no importance to him. Only one small detail kept nagging at the back of his mind, enough to make him question his own motives at times or to even feel the slightest twinge of remorse every time he felt that cold needle pierce his veins.

Every other day at least, Haizaki's phone buzzed with one message. Each one said something different in terms of language, but they were all the same in retrospect. Over and over, steadfastly, unwavering, Nijimura would ask him how he was. Or what he was up to. Or where he had been. And over and over, steadfastly, unwavering, Haizaki would ignore him. With each oncoming message, he would hastily eliminate them from his phone. He had not the patience for such an annoyance. Yet he never asked Nijimura to stop, and never answered him in order to satisfy his curiosity. Haizaki continued to let them come, perhaps finding a sort of solace in the idea that at least one person still cared. And yet still it was not enough, for Haizaki found himself wondering that if his old friend cared that much, would he not have done more? Wouldn't he have shown up at his house if he truly felt compassionate enough? Wouldn't he try a little harder? A selfish ideal it truly was. Haizaki had nothing else but his insecurities at this point; he had expelled all else from his life, aside from the one thing that kept him going. The constant feeling of cotton in his mouth was enough to shut him up for now, but with the dark path Haizaki set himself on, it was merely a matter of time before he reached the end. Then, and only then, would the trouble truly begin.


End file.
